


Moving In Blues

by rothalion



Category: Army Of Two (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:58:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rothalion/pseuds/rothalion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Salem's lease is up and Rios leaves him hanging for the move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving In Blues

 

Just some quickie backstory for the guys. Time frame…somewhere between …oh…Iraq and Shanghai. Not much editing just felt like throwing something together enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don’t own them.

Warnings: None.

 

 

 

Moving in Blues

 

            Elliot Salem stood in the center of his newest apartment, took a long swig of beer and turned 360 degrees. He sighed and flipped the empty bottle into the cardboard box that once held his stereo components. This was his third place that year. It was just like all the others over the fifteen years since he’d left the Army; a three or six month lease, one bedroom, close to the beach, if possible on the beach, just a simple non-descript, step above a dump place to throw his duffle bags.. He slogged to the kitchen and flipped on the light. Mango tile and avocado green counter tops greeted him. For a moment he paused and cringed; then shrugging, yanked open the white refrigerator door and grabbed another beer, his ninth.

            Rios had been unable to help him move this time around which infuriated Salem. Samantha had once again thrown a fit over the amount of time the two spent together and had, at the last minute, deemed the moving weekend, ‘family time’. Salem sneered at the idea. He set the beer down and flipped open one of the fifteen or so small boxes he’d never unpack.

“Family time.” He said to taking out a photograph of Tyson climbing into a chopper after a mission. “Fuckin’ bitch, you’ve barely been around in three months, not even to see your own daughter and now just because you want ‘mommy time’ it’s, family time. Cunt. More like separate me and Tyse time.”

Tyson of course defended her.

“We’ll just move you next weekend. You’ve got the time on your old lease. What’s the hurry and besides bro, fuck, why don’t you just bite the bullet and sign a one year lease someplace. Damn, buy something, Elliot. I know you don’t have a ton a shit, just those damn boxes you drag around, the bedroom set and the gun safe but still, moving sucks.”                       

Just recalling the conversation angered Elliot. As if it had even been a conversation. Tyson said the plans had to change and that should have been that. But Salem actually surprised himself that morning by getting up, despite still being half drunk, picking up the truck and just moving on his own. It proved to be a depressing day. He was alone doing something that he and Tyson had always, for fifteen years, done together. Moving day had always been a party for the pair. Pick up a small truck, pick out new rental furniture for the living and dining rooms, drink a lot beer, move in Elliot’s minimal furnishings, stuff themselves sick for lunch on Kentucky Fried Chicken then drink more beer while setting up the stereo and television and wait, sitting on the floor playing video games for the furniture to arrive. Now suddenly, what he’d always considered to be a special time turns out to be a time that Rios apparently hated. ‘Moving sucks’?

To make matters worse this year was supposed to be special. Salem planned on buying a new, bigger television and Tyse, being more of the techie was going to come along to advise. He turned and looked at the coveted item, half out of the box. A 46 inch flat screen, the best money could buy or so Elliot hoped; if not he’d have to suffer Rios’ lecture that he should have waited.

“Yup Tyse, would of been fun waiting for the furniture and playing games on that today.”

He knew he was just feeling sorry for himself but no matter how hard he’d tried all day, he couldn’t shake the foul mood.

            “A year lease, Tyse, what the fuck for? Nothing ever lasts a year. And buy; that’s for like forever, man. It’s like bad karma, a year lease, so just when I settle in, get my own couch and dining room with a fucking china hutch and shit I’ll get blown to pieces some fuckin’ where. Fuck the lot a that, Rios and fuck you and your bitch wife too.”

            He tossed the photograph back into the box and retrieved the beer. The box held at least thirty framed photographs covering the years the pair had worked together; from their earliest days in Somalia up until just recently. Rios somehow managed to get the shots himself or from other folks, frame them and share the memories with Salem. He’d asked Salem a hundred times why he didn’t hang at least some of them up. In fact, he’d asked why Salem’s apartment walls were terminally bare. Salem told him, ‘Why bother, I’m going to be gone in a few months and besides I have to see your ugly mug every day, all day. Maybe I need my away time.’ They’d laugh it off and make plans for Tyse to come over, go through the pile and hang some but that had not ever happened. He weaved the box flaps together and toted it into the bedroom for storage in the closet.

            “Yea, big fucking man you are, Elliot Salem. Your away time, your alone time away from that fucker, Rios, who left you to die so he could cop a quarterly fuck from that bitch wife a his. That Rios? That the one your all torqued about, Salem? Grow a pair Salem and tell the big traitorous bastard to get fucked and mean it for once.”

            He plopped the box down in the corner of the extra- large closet, one of the main reasons he’d chosen that unit, and studied it. If he left the box there it would end up underneath all the others; then if on a miraculous chance he did want to hang the pictures he’d have to dig. He started to pick it back up when his phone rang. Rios, figures he thought. Then without thinking he grabbed another box from the living room, set it roughly down on the first one and answered the phone.

            “Salem?”

            “I know it’s you, Salem. And why do you always say it like a question, like you’re not sure? What the hell, I went by your apartment with some Calzone, it’s empty.”

            “Imagine that. Not hungry, asshole, I had a double serving of KFC.” Elliot snapped back slamming the remainder of his beer and tearing open another box. He dug around, drew out a half full bottle of Stoli and smiled.

            “I told you we would do it next weekend.”

Salem opened the bottle took a swig and plopped down on the floor in front of the new television.

“Yea, Rios and I told you we planned for a month and a half now, to do it today. Truck was rented, apartment was ready, I was ready, so fuck off.” He took a second gulp, coughed when the Stoli burned his throat and reached to his belt for his knife to cut the tape holding the protective foam wrap. “Must’a fucked her good, partner, she let you off your chain long enough to go out and play.” He sneered flipping the knife shut. “Or’d she just send you for food?”

Rios squeezed the bridge of his nose and sought for words that would placate Salem and not set him off.”

“Ellie,”

“Don’t!” Salem screamed into the receiver leaning back and planting a heel strike into the center of the television. It doubled forward slightly then tipped over. “Don’t play the ‘Ellie’ card with me tonight, Tyse, just don’t!” He stood and seeing the state of the new television stomped it five or six more times to insure its destruction.

“Salem, what the hell’s that noise?”

“My new T.V. The one you and me, together were supposed to pick out! The one you and me should be sitting in front of right now! The one…Moving sucks, Rios? You said moving sucks and all these fuckin years I thought you, we enjoyed the moving day party, fuck you, you lying asshole! You…” He cut himself off. Even to his own ears the tantrum sounded unbelievably childish. “What do you want, Rios?”

“I was worried about you. You were fucked up as shit, and pissed as hell at me last night and I didn’t like leavin’ you at the bar…”

“Little fuckin’ late there, bro! It’s ten pm; if I was dead in an alley, I’d a been dead for a day by now.”

            “I called you, Salem, several times. You didn’t answer.”

            “Guess my hands were full moving shit.”

            “Guess so. Sam, she just wanted to talk, she…”

            “How long you gonna do this shit to me?”

            “Shit?”

            “Marry her, don’t marry her, marry her, don’t marry her; drives me fuckin crazy. I never know if this is gonna be the morning I walk in and you tell me you’re quitting again. Remember last time? Just fuckin decide, Rios. Just fuckin decide. Me, us, her or me… Salem, who’s got your back or that cunt who’s always stabbing you in it.”

            “That’s it, I’m coming over.”

“Don’t bother. I’m going to bed. You don’t have a key and you know what dick face maybe this time you never will.”

“Bed, I doubt you even set the bed up, Ellie. You never do straight away. Elliot?”

“Well guess what, Rios. It’s set up, made properly, duvet and all even and I’m thinking I’ll just go stretch out, watch my old T.V., which I set up in there by myself and finish up the rest of the Kentucky Fried Chicken and Stoli.”

“Samantha, just shut up a minute.” Elliot heard Rios yelling over the phone.

“Oops, free play time’s over?”

“Salem… Samantha, I’m not gonna be long just…”

“I gotta go, Tubby. See you Monday and make sure to clean that ring in your nose, infections suck.”

“Salem, don’t you dare smash your fuckin phone, Salem.” Rios ordered but all he heard in response was Elliot laughing and then the line went dead. He tried back but his calls went straight to voice mail. He closed his eyes and sighed, figuring he’d just grab Elliot a new one tomorrow and deliver it as a peace offering.

Elliot kicked the smashed phone across the room and closed the Stoli. Dying in a fire fight might work but alcohol poisoning wasn’t on his list. He was exhausted. He shouldn’t be, hadn’t really been until Rios’ call but now he felt like he’d not rested in days. On top of that he’d made a real mess of his life again. The television was a total loss. The phone was a total loss and if Samantha finally won, his life would be a loss as well. Dejected and angry with himself he grabbed the Stoli again and slogged to the shower.

The shower relaxed him enough that he switched the Stoli for a beer. Then he surprised himself again that day by actually getting into bed. For the most part the big king size bed stayed unmade and un- slept in. It was, for Salem, a symbol of failure. Where Tyson had Samantha and as of late Alice had Karla, he had no one. No one to fill the opposite side of the expensive bed and that was simply a pain he hated facing on a nightly basis. So he typically crashed on his couch; tonight though it called to him. He slid under the covers naked, stretched out and savored the weight and security of the warm comforter. He’d made the bed well, tightly tucking the sheet and blanket and the bedding smelled fresh having just come back from the laundry. Salem fluffed his pillows and rolled onto his right side. On the night stand was the only photograph he displayed of Rios and himself. Some journalist had snapped it several years back. It showed a close up of their faces with Rios grasping Salem in a fierce bear hug; the smaller man’s feet nearly two feet off the ground. Rios’ expression was pure joy and relief and Salem’s exhausted resignation. If you asked Elliot about the photo he’d smile, lie and say he really had no memory of the embrace. He lifted the picture and studied it.

“God Tyse we’re getting old and it seems like the shit between us just keeps getting deeper.” He said brushing his fingers across the glass. “Sometimes, like now when you’ve fucked me, I wish I couldn’t recall this moment. It just fuckin’ hurts.”

He sat up in the bed and leaned back against the teak headboard. Salem remembered the fifteen days leading up to the photo but much of that very moment was lost to him. They’d dropped into the jungle on a bad weather day somewhere over Venezuela. Rios had tried to scrub the jump but Dalton, egged on by Phillip Clyde, overruled him. They were two teams, Rios and him with Galen Seacore and Willy Heckler. Sure enough the jump went sour. High winds threatened to blow them off course. Elliot, the least experienced jumper of the team, was blown farthest away. Salem took a sip of beer and played the memory over in his mind as he rubbed his thumb across the photo.

The foursome jumped and as soon as Elliot hit the airstream he began to panic. Rios and the others were falling away from him to the east, where he should be going, at a high speed. Rios was screaming instructions to him through his mask but nothing was working.

“Rios, stop screaming at me!”

“Then do what the fuck I’m telling you to do, Kermit!” The older man countered.

All Salem could think was ‘I am.’ But it wasn’t enough. He simply wasn’t skilled enough. He could hear the fear and panic in Tyson’s voice and that only made him more afraid. Tyson didn’t panic, so if Tyse was panicking he must be in trouble. When they opened their chutes the extreme winds pummeled Salem throwing him into a high speed spin. He took action to control it but failed. Once again he could hear Rios screaming instructions but dizzy, disorientated and completely panicked there was little Salem was capable of doing to help himself.

Salem hit the trees too fast and miles away from the LZ. When he woke up he found himself hanging thirty feet above the forest floor, battered and with his right shoulder broken or dislocated. The fall through the tree canopy dislodged his mask but it was within reach. He secured it and tried to raise Rios or base and received no response. Thirty feet was a long way to free fall and his shoulder was already injured but he had no choice; so resolved, he cut the cords and plummeted down, bouncing off branches and landing hard on his already battered shoulder.

Salem chuckled, rubbed his thumb across the old photo and took a sip of beer.

“Why Salem, why is it always the right shoulder, arm or wrist? Fuck, you little ass bitch fuckin’ try and hurt the left side once and a while.”

The picture stared back at him mutely. Three surgeries and months of rehabilitation and the shoulder still plagued him. The shoulder the wrist, the arm, that side of his body was a blight of bad luck. He shook his head flexed his right hand and sighed letting the memory invade his consciousness again.

Elliot regained consciousness for the second time on the jungle floor late into the night. By his watch he’d been out for six hours. If Rios and the others had made it down, the mission was completed and the trio would be en-route to the extraction point. He sat up, hit himself with adrenalin and took stock of his situation. He carried only eight high energy bars, two canteens of water, enough ammunition for a decent firefight, seven more adrenalin hypos and five morphine. Not bad considering, but until he triangulated his location relative to the base and extraction point, which unless he’d been unbelievingly lucky and landed near, he couldn’t be sure the meager supplies were sufficient.

Willing away the fear of the agony he’d feel setting his shattered shoulder and securing it he stood and slung off his pack. Getting it back on was going to be a chore but he’d make due. Elliot dug around and retrieved length of line, tied one end to his right wrist, then ran the end over his left shoulder, behind his head and through the drag strap on his vest. Then he wound the line repeatedly around his torso leaving his good arm free and snuggly securing the right against his chest. He tied it off with his teeth and left hand, then sweating from pain and the brutal jungle temperature slung the ruck back on and started moving.

He knew Rios would scold him for it, but moving, even without a specific direction, made Salem feel in control of his situation. Repeated attempts to hail anyone on his mask had failed. He resigned himself to being alone and cut off then using night vision tried to find a clearing where he could see the sky.

“Yup, Rios, I was fucked.” He said to the photograph. “In agony, afraid to hit the damn Morphine, alone in the dark, which we know I hate, in the fuckin’ jungle and no idea if you’d made it through ok. Maybe I was a shit failure at parachutes but guess what Tubby, I am a master of land navigation.” He raised the beer in a mock toast then slipped back into the past.

Despite his exhaustion Salem kept moving south east. The intended LZ had been 150 miles inland from the coast of Venezuela and forty north of the Brazilian border. The extraction point had been just over the Brazilian border. By his reckoning, Salem calculated his position to be 250 miles inland and at a minimum seventy miles north of Brazil and one-fifty, over impossible terrain, to get to the extraction point. If he missed extraction he’d head for the coast, preferably trying to hit it at the tip of Brazil. They were apt to be a bit friendlier and worst case scenario he could ditch his gear, play stupid and say he crashed a light plane out in the jungle somewhere and use a telephone and get home. But right now, hunkered down in the belly of an ancient tree trunk sipping water and chewing an energy bar, he had little hope of even making it through the valley and to the opposite side of the mountains.

“Yea, Tyse it wasn’t looking good for your favorite little ass bitch.” He thumped Rios’ head in the photo and held it at arm’s length. “I didn’t figure you guys would wait, much less even try and fetch my dumb ass. Fully figured Clyde would talk Dalton into leavin’ me to die. Didn’t figure you would though. So I kept moving. Isn’t that what you always say? ‘Keep your damn head down and keep moving.’ Ever tried moving through god damned forsaken jungle with a shattered shoulder asshole? Keep moving.”

Salem did keep moving. Pushing, hoping even praying one night, when the rain sluiced down on him and he sat in despair staring at his left index finger after being snake bitten, wondering if he’d actually been poisoned, to a god he’d long ago given up on. To his horror it swelled and the pain rivaled any he’d ever experienced and for the next two days he lay curled in a ball, vomiting away his precious fluids and trembling so violently he’d bitten through his own tongue. The morphine helped but made him stupid and in a moment of delirious frustration he actually began to cut the finger off, sans the drug, which invariably halted the painful procedure.

On the third day he crawled out of the minimal shelter of the rock face he’d found and stumbled on. He was into his eighth day. Eight days beyond extraction but the original rendezvous was within reach. All he could do was hope they’d waited.

Salem chugged the remaining beer and sighed. He stroked the photograph and tried to ignore the churning in his stomach. He did remember the moment but he kept it locked away in a place so tender and scary he seldom visited it. Going there, feeling what he felt when he saw Tyson that day, felt the big man’s arms around him and registered that Rios was sobbing threatened to undo his failing resolve. Year by year he felt more and more that what they did was taking too much of a toll. 

“It’s killing me, Tyse; you’re killing me. But, fuck, you ass hole. I can’t stop loving you, loving us.”

On the fifteenth day he stumbled into the clearing just after sunrise. He hadn’t eaten in three days, he had no water, no more morphine and he was near dead. When he broke cover he heard shouts of incoming and then saw twelve weapons leveled at him. He stopped and simply stood staring in disbelief that the men before him were SCC. Then Tyson stepped from a tent and charged him. He hit him and lifted him from the ground saying, his name over and over and sobbing. Salem was in agony. Tyson was crushing the wounded shoulder but it didn’t matter; all that mattered was that the man was there for him. That Rios hadn’t given up that he’d trusted Elliot’s skill and tenacity and convinced Dalton to buy him the time he’d needed to make it out.

Salem returned the photo to the nightstand and slid back under the blankets. For a time he tossed and turned then finally he got up, headed to the living room, set the photo on the new coffee table and sank down onto the new leather couch. He dragged the tattered blanket off the back and wrapped it round his weary shoulders. The old blanket was threadbare and near useless if you truly needed to be warm but for Salem it was a life line.

“You don’t even know where I got it from do you, Rios.” He said to the picture. “Stole in Somalia, off a your bunk. You were pissed as fuck that it went missing and beat the shit outta me figuring I left our door unlocked. Probably the best beatin’ I’ve ever suffered at your big ass paws, ‘cause I really wanted the blanket. Benedict wrote you up. Just made you hate me that much more. Got off to a slow start, we did. But look at us now. Remember that time in Saudi…”

Tyson stood in the hallway of Salem’s new apartment building. He looked left and right, reached in a pocket and took out his lock picks. Just as he began to work the deadbolt the neighbor stepped out.

“Help you?” The diminutive blond asked.

“No, my buddy just moved in. Trying to get him to answer. Must be asleep.”

“Your buddy sounds like he destroyed the place earlier. Hope he’s ok. Nearly called the cops.”

“Yea, he’s having a tough day. So I’m here checking. Thanks.”

She eyed Rios warily then retreated back into her apartment. Tyson got busy again and the locked opened. He stepped in and surveyed the scene. Salem lay crashed on the new sofa wrapped in that piece of junk blanket, the new television and phone in pieces and the younger man’s trademark collection of scattered empty beer cans littered the room. Rios watched the rise and fall of Elliot’s chest. He was out and if Tyson knew anything at all about Salem, he knew he’d be out well into the morning. He grabbed an empty box and did, as he’d done uncounted times over the years. He cleaned up Salem’s mess, sat down in the recliner that he knew Salem had chosen for him and fell quickly to sleep.

Salem awoke around eleven a.m., earlier than Rios had expected and his mood was black. Tyson was in the kitchen making coffee and putting Salem’s plates and utensils away when he discovered he had company.

“What fuck are you doing here, ass hole. How’d you get in?”

“Who taught you how to pick locks, Kermit?” Tyson replied evenly. All it would take was one wrong word to set Salem off and Rios knew all too well that any word, any action even the most benign could be a trigger. “Have some coffee. There’s cinnamon, strawberry bagels with Nutella too. Just chill and eat, Salem.”

“You replaced the T.V.?”

“Phone too. You need a phone; you’re technically on call.”

“When’d you get here?” Salem asked picking up the phone and opening the contacts. “Your number in here?”

“Yea, number two just like always. Last night around, one.”

“Consider it history. And I’ll supplement the dead bolt with a chain, you fucker.”

Tyson turned from the counter and snatched the telephone from the younger man’s hand before he could erase the number.

“Shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down now, Salem!” Tyson snapped.

Elliot startled a bit at the unexpected command but sat, just as Tyson knew he would. He might argue, he might complain and he might procrastinate but for fifteen years if Rios snapped a command, Elliot Salem followed it. He grabbed a mug, filled it with hot coffee, threw a bagel into the microwave, retrieved them and slapped the food down in front of a visibly hung over, Salem.

“I’m sorry, Ellie.” He finally said quietly not much more than a whisper. “I’m sorry. I don’t hate moving you. I hate fucking hurting you but god damn it, Ellie, I’m just trying to set my life straight too. I just want more for you bro, just a home. You never fucking had that, ever and I’m just…Samantha’s,” Tyson paused. “Don’t look like that. We’re separating, legally. She’s gonna have the house, we’re gonna share Nayla. I need a place to stay. I thought if you can forgive me, I could bunk here. Hell, you never use the bedroom. I’ll pay my half, shit we’ll pay the damn lease off and get a bigger place, Ellie, you hearing me, man?”

Salem sat across the breakfast counter staring at Rios. Rios wanted to live with him. They stayed together on missions, they’d slept in shared bunks and fox holes and hides more times than Elliot could count. But this was different. This was a dream come true, a fantasy realized. He slept, really slept, without drinking himself to sleep, whenever Rios was nearby. The picture helped, the blanket helped but to have the huge man just steps away, to be able to hear him breathing or snoring; that was offer he’d never expected and certainly one he’d not turn down. His first instinct was to make Rios beg but his relief at not being alone anymore won out. He set the bagel down mid bite and just nodded in agreement.

“Good, good Ellie, I’m glad. Just one thing though.”

Salem gut churned. Whenever Rios did the ‘just one thing’ routine it seemed to bode poorly for him.

“What Tyse, I’m still sleeping naked if I want to and if I get really blown up or thrashed can I have a night in the bed?”

Rios laughed.

“Yea, bro, be all the naked you want, nothing I ain’t seen or touched before. The bed’s yours whenever you want. Like I said we can get another place soon. Just loose that fucking threadbare, sorry excuse of a blanket, Salem. God I hate that damned old thing. Besides, I’ll be here now. So if you feel the need to wrap up in me, hey just knock on the bedroom door.”

 

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End file.
